Author’s Notes: I wrote Keller’s Revenge for a challenge, and it just never came out the way I expected it would. I believe most ppl, with the exception of one or two didn’t like the story because of the dark ending, so here’s a sequel attempting to give it a more optimistic ending. But be warned, it is physically impossible for me to write fluffy, happy ending, especially in the Oz fandom, which I see as naturally depressing, so for some it still wouldn’t be the most satisfying conclusion.
For some reason, I had the damnest time with dates in this fic, so to clarify, Keller’s Revenge takes place between November 2003 to January of 2004. This sequel takes place ten months later, October 2004.
Keller’s Apology, Sequel to Keller’s Revenge
Chicago, Illinois, October 4, 2004
The clean, crisp air of autumn acts like a natural energy boost, as Toby finds the power to pick-up the pace on the last leg of his daily run. “Just a bit more,” he tells himself, as he feels the fire in his lungs and his heart thumping in his chest. It’s early morning and the gray clouds of Chicago cover the sky.
Finishing up the last mile, Toby ends his run at the entrance of a pricey high-rise, a place, which he now calls home. Pulling out a small water bottle from his back pocket he takes a long, gulp, while nodding at the doorman, who immediately jumps to attention and opens the large glass doors that lead into the building.
“Mr. Tobias, have a good run?”
“Great run. The weather is perfect.” Toby smiles at Stu, the morning doorman, as he slides past him into the lobby.
Typical everyday banter, that means nothing, yet Toby makes it a point to try and speak or smile at the doorman, the desk clerk, the bellhop, the cleaning staff, or any other employee of his condo tower or the fancy office building where he works. Despite the fact that he once again has the title of attorney-at-law, and is practicing at a well-known law firm, he knows that none of that counts for anything because it can all disappear in a blink of an eye. Where had his fancy education and degree gotten him in Oz? Into the arms and bed of a sadist nut-job named Schillinger, and then into. . . .
Toby breaks off his thoughts, as he enters the elevator, using his key to access the 18th floor. He had made a vow some months ago to stop thinking about Christopher Keller. It served no useful purpose. The future is what he needs to think about, only the future.
Checking his wristwatch, as he unlocks the door to his condo, Toby notes that he has plenty of time to for a quick shower and shave before work. Throwing his keys on the breakfast counter, he sees the large envelope that holds pictures and hand-written letters from Holly and Harry. His children are being raised in Europe by his mother and his in-laws, far from him, but at least, they now agreed to permit correspondence. Toby still holds optimism; his children won’t be children forever. They’ll get older and make their own decision, and perhaps they’ll make the decision to return to him. He’ll never give up on that hope.
Arriving at work with time to spare, Toby clutches the brown envelope that was forwarded from his father’s, now his brother’s law firm in New York. He plans to answer his children’s letters during his lunch hour. He barely has time to throw the envelope and the law book he had be studying on his desk, when he is inundated from his colleagues: did you research the true economic impact of hybrid cars, is there a precedence on whether a court will order an abortion, did he have time to check on whether there have been any past cases involving illegally detained prisoners at Guantanamo Bay.
Work is his salvation. He’s kept so busy that remaining sober, lamenting his past, and feeling sorrow over his current barren life are usually not issues. They only rear their ugly heads at night, when he sits alone in his empty apartment.
**
October 8, 2004
“I believe you’ve won the care!”
Her enthusiasm was a little overboard, but Toby knew that it was part of a come-on. She was interested in him.
“It’s your case, and you’re the one, who will win or lose it. I just give you the research.” Toby plays along. A little flirtation is always fun, and especially when the other player is an attractive co-worker.
“I’m sure if someone did a study, they’d find that our winning rate has risen, since you were hired. It was a brilliant stroke on the Old Man’s part to hire a full-time, experienced, bona fide lawyer to help with research. So often the paralegals just don’t know all the ins-and-outs.”
“Well, glad to be of service.” Toby throws Shelia a modest smile.
Little does she know that the Old Man, or to be precise, the founding partner of the law firm, Eldridge Randolph, had a visit from the FBI, and being the patriotic, supporter-of-government man that he was, readily agreed to hire Toby, now renamed Cordell Tobias, as an associate lawyer. The only stipulation, Cordell was to keep a low profile; no courtroom appearances, no client contact. Randolph was no fool; he got a Harvard trained lawyer at two-thirds the price of his other associates.
And Toby? He gets to practice law again, and make much more in salary than if he had to resort to being a paralegal. The FBI had given him back some of his life. He had his career, a very decent paycheck, and a beautiful condo on Lake Michigan. All things he knows not to take for granted.
“Some of the associates, paras, and office staff are going out after work. You, interested?” Shelia leans forward, a clear invitation.
Toby considers. Up until now, he has been friendly but aloof from his colleagues. He needed time to heal, heal from the loss of his family, Oz, the Aryans, and of course, Chris Keller. But it’s been ten months now since he returned from Colombia, and perhaps it’s time to join the living.
“Okay.” He nods his head. “You can count me in.”
**
October 11, 2004
Another busy Monday, but Toby doesn’t find it to be such a drudge as most of the working Monday-through-Friday people. For him it’s a relief, as weekends are his nightmare. Lonely and restless, he has to find new ways to keep himself from opening that bottle. Thankfully it’s football season, so at least Sundays are bearable.
The day passes quickly, and as usual Toby stays until after the office has closed, but tonight not as late as usual. Monday Night Football will occupy him this night, along with a microwave dinner and a non-alcoholic beer.
Tidying up his desk and packing his briefcase, he throws on his dress coat and makes his way out of the building. It’s an eight block walk from the law firm to his high-rise. A deliberate move on his part, as he doesn’t own any kind of vehicle nor have a driver’s license. No one in the FBI said a license would not be permitted, and with his new identity, he supposes that there would be no issues in applying for one, but he has decided to deny himself, perhaps a bit of penance to Kathy Rockwell.
Reaching his high-rise, he greets the doorman, and then the desk clerk. Retrieving his mail from the locked mailbox, he rides the elevator up to his floor and fumbles his way into his apartment. Hands full of briefcase and mail, it’s a challenge to work the key into the lock. Pushing his way inside, he automatically reaches for the light switch, but then stops as he realizes the lights are already on.
Looking up, a part of him already knows who broke-in, as his eyes meet the piercing stare of his former enemy, friend and lover. The man, whose ghost he still can not shake after all this time.
“I’m calling the police.” Toby drops briefcase and mail on the floor, as he immediately pulls his cell phone out of his coat pocket.
“Go ahead.” Chris throws him the Keller grin, seemingly unconcerned, as he stretches his arms over his head. “But I’m legit; there’s nothing the police can do to me.”
“Legit, huh?” Despite himself, Toby can’t help but be curious. “Last I heard, you were a fugitive from the law, wanted for escaping from Oz.”
“That’s all changed; the Feds offered me a deal.”
“The Feds?” Toby snorts in disbelief. “You would be the last person, other than Usama Bin Laden, to be offered a deal by the FBI. You were prominent on their to-get list.”
“Not quite, Tobe. They easily forgot their interest in me, when I offered them up one of their ten most wanted.” Chris stand and walks over to Toby, stopping when they were nose to nose. “Yeah, I gave them everything they wanted, and have also agreed to testify when and if they’re able to bring him to trial.”
“Bring who to trial?” Stepping back, Toby uses the excuse of taking off and hanging up his coat to put distance between him and Keller. Despite everything, there’s no denying that the man’s presence still effects him.
“Out host in Colombia. You never formally met him, but I believe you caught a glimpse of him a few times.”
“Ye-ah.” Toby was now really intrigued. All thoughts of calling the police forgotten. “I remember that you did everything in your power to keep me from ever meeting him.”
“A true bad man.” Chris bends down to pick up Toby’s briefcase and mail. “He makes most of the inmates in Oz look like a bunch of pansy ass-wipes. The man deals in international drug trafficking, human slavery, extortion, mass murder, kidnapping, and the list goes on. Our government and the Mexican and Canadian governments all want him. He’s a very desired guy by law enforcement agencies,” he says, as he flips through Toby’s mail nosily.
“And he was a friend of yours?”
“Not so much a friend as. . . .” Chris pauses, acting like he’s considering hard. “A past business associate.”
“Uh huh,” Toby grunts out skeptically. He wonders how much Keller is telling him is truth, half-truth, or out right lie. “And this business associate, does he have a name, because you never mentioned one in Colombia?”
“Which one would you like? He has many.” Chris is flippant, as he throws Toby’s mail and briefcase down on the entrance-way table.
“Oh, I don’t know, how about his real one.” Toby is flippant back, as he loosens his tie and walks over to the refrigerator (his high-rise living area is one large great room) to get something to drink. He realizes that Keller’s sudden appearance doesn’t have him in a panic, quite the contrary, as he feels quite calm.
“Hmm.” Chris purses his lips, as he shakes his head. “That’s a tough one, but the one that I know him by is Jimmy or James, if you like.”
“Jimmy.” Toby can’t help but roll his eyes. Nothing has changed; conversations with Keller can be quite the riddle. “I have bottled water, soda, or non-alcoholic beer. What’s your pleasure?”
“Already helped myself.” Chris strolled back to couch, where he had been making himself comfortable and held up a bottle of O’Douls. “I must say, Tobe, your choice of beverages leaves a lot to be desired. Couldn’t find a drop of anything worthwhile.”
“Recovering alcoholic, remember?” Toby says dryly, as he popped the cap of an O’Douls. “Alright, so you made some kind of deal with the Feds, but how did you find me, and what do you want?”
“I want you, Tobe. Always did, always will,” Chris states this without looking up; he suddenly seems fascinated by the label contents of the non-alcoholic beer he was drinking.
“Uh-hun,” Toby grunts out, expression and tone of voice clearing expressing his skepticism. “Oh, I remember how you so wanted me the last months in Colombia. But anyways, what’s done is done, and I’ve moved on with my life, so why don’t you.” He motions toward the door. “You can start by moving your ass out of my house.”
“Toby.” Chris’ voice takes on a seductive tone, as he stands. “Those other men in Colombia, just quick fucks to make you jealous, and maybe a little revenge for all the guys you flaunted in my face in Oz. Never forgot that you know.”
Toby sighs, another old argument about to be repeated. “If I remember correctly, you’re the one, who moved out of the pod and then stated quite publicly that you didn’t care who I fucked. So what do you want me to do?” He throws his arms up in exasperation. “You play cold, and then when I accept that, you turn around and say it was my fault the relationship ended. You know. . . “
Toby stops mid-sentence. Why the hell was he even bothering to argue with Keller? “Just get the hell out of here,” he says wearily. “My life is finally on track now, and that last thing I need is for you to screw it up.”
**
October 12, 2004
Sitting at his desk on Tuesday morning, Toby contemplates leaving work with the excuse that he’s ill, which isn’t a lie, since he feels headachy and nauseous. He has just gotten off the phone with Kevin Fletcher, his FBI contact. Fletcher confirms that indeed Keller had been given a deal from the FBI. Guilt makes the FBI agent loose-lipped, as he clumsily justifies the FBI’s actions.
It’s those rationalizations that begin the thumping in Toby’s head. He is sure that the FBI knows in its heart, that Keller is a rapist and stone-cold, serial killer, but the Feds don’t care and will give Keller his get-out-of-jail free card because he’s their ticket to taking down one of their most wanted. Fletcher rationalizes that in fact, Keller is only guilty of the one murder, and any others are only speculation and suspicion, and one murder in the FBI’s eyes is nothing compared to James Restin’s crimes. Toby wonders how Special Agent Pierce is taking the news.
Despite everything, Toby manages to make it through the day, but the clock barely reads five and he’s on the elevator and out the door. More aspirin and a hot meal might ease the pounding in his head, and the emotional turmoil he feels from Keller’s surprise visit to the unsettling conversation he had with Kevin Fletcher.
Entering his home, it’s like a replay of the night before, as the lights are on and the large presence of Christopher Keller fills the room.
“Hey, Tobe,” Chris greets him as if nothing is amiss. “Made some chili cause you look like you could use a good meal. And by the way, is that all you eat?” He waves a hand toward the refrigerator’s freezer compartment. “Microwave dinners and frozen pizza? You ate better in Oz.”
Toby opens his mouth, but so many conflicting emotions run through him, that he can’t for a moment, make a coherent sentence. So instead, he busies himself with setting down his briefcase and books, and taking off his coat.
“You’ll like this chili,” Chris continues to prattle on as if him making Toby dinner is an everyday occurrence. “Got the recipe from. . . .” He has to stop and think. “Either Kitty or Angelique. Can’t remember which because both were dynamite cooks.”
“Uh huh.” The vein in Toby’s forward throbs, as he rips off his tie, trying to push down his emotions. “Chris.” He finally finds his voice. “What part of get-the-hell-out-of-my-home didn’t you understand?”
Pushing out his lower lip, Keller only shakes his head, as he sets a bowl of chili on the breakfast counter in front of Toby. “Sit, eat,” he orders while opening an O’Douls and placing that alongside the chili. “Here.” He throws down a colored brochure. “Look at that.”
“Chris,” Toby protests but can’t help glancing at the brochure out of curiosity. It pictures an elaborate recreational vehicle. Unable to stop himself, he flips through the brochure, and sees photos of a luxurious motor home, whose price was probably close to his condo's.
“What is this?”
“Our getaway.” Elbows on the counter, Keller leans closer to Toby. “We take this baby and travel the entire US. Winter is coming, so I figure, we’ll go to Miami, but if that doesn’t suit you, we can try San Antonio, Tucson, or San Diego. When the warmer weather comes, we can travel up to San Francisco, Seattle, or the east coast. We could see Maine. . . .”
“Chris, just what the hell are you talking about?” Toby interrupts, as he sits down and without thinking begins to eat.
“I’m talking about us, you and me, babe, and this house on wheels. We’ll travel about, and in a few years when this whole FBI deal is settled, we can decide where we would like to live.”
“And the FBI is just going to allow you to gad-about? What about James Restin?”
“I gave them all the information they needed,” Chris replies, his tone one of unconcern. “And the only obligation I have now is to check in with them now and then in case they need more info. If they are ever able to bring Restin to trial, then I would have to be available to testify.”
“O-kay.” Toby assimilates what Keller is telling him, while absentmindedly picking up the buttered bread that Chris had served with the chili. “Isn’t this Restin dangerous? How come the Feds haven’t placed you in protective custody?” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he realizes the irony. The man the Feds were protecting him from, now needed protection.
“I can take care of myself,” Chris says with a touch of arrogance. “If Restin wants to send his goons after me, let him. He’ll just have less hired help. But. . .the people I care about, that’s a different story. My ex-wives, all are now in the Witness Protection Program, and I can’t have any contact with them until Restin is put away.”
“Okay.” Toby nods. It’s one of the few things that Keller said that made sense.
“But you. . . .” Chris once again leans close to Toby. “The Feds won’t protect you, since there’s no legal relationship between us.”
Toby stops chewing, as the piece of bread falls out of his hand. “Res. . .Restin. . .I could be a target?”
“I’m guessing his first one.” Chris straightens up, and picks up a bowl to serve himself some chili. “Because he’s seen you, knows what you look like.”
“Jesus-fucking-Christ!” Toby swears out loud, although a small part of him isn’t surprised. Keller always did have a knack of fucking up his life. “So what am I supposed to. . .fuck! That’s why you want me to sail off with you in that. . . .” He waves a hand at the brochure. “Thing.”
“Toby.” Chris’s tone is that of patience. “I love you, want to spend the rest of my life with you. I thought it would be fun for us, especially after all those years locked-up in Oz. We’ll be free to go anywhere, do what we want, when we want. The RV will give us time together, and it will help keep Restin off our backs. Hard to find us if we keep moving around.”
“Jesus!” Toby considers his options, which he realizes are very limited. “I’ve got a job, my condo,” he pauses, as he looks fondly around. “Bills, obligations.”
“Fuck the job, and your condo ain’t going anywhere,” Chris says in typical Keller fashion.
“It may not be going anywhere, but the bank who owns a part of it, isn’t going to wait a few years for a mortgage payment. And, and I’ve got child support to pay.”
“Really?” Chris turns from the stove, where he was dishing himself a bowl of chili, to look over at Toby. “So how often do you see your kids, cause you know. . . .” He taps the RV’s brochure. “This baby’s got three bedrooms.”
“My kids are in Europe with their grandparents,” Toby replies, his voice and manner calmer. “But I am allowed to correspond with them now.”
“Ppft.” Chris rolls his eyes in disgust. “Big fucking deal. You’re their father; fucking grandparents shouldn’t be able to allow anything. The kids should be with you.”
“Well, since there was this concern about you kidnapping them. . . .”
“What?” Chris interrupts. “I only wanted you to be happy, so I was arranging for them to be with us in Colombia, but you never agreed. Another reason I starting fucking around because it felt like you didn’t want to commit to me.”
You. . .I,” Toby sputters out. It seems that Keller has once again made their break-up his fault. “I don’t’ believe you.” Unable to argue anymore, he turns and stomps to his bedroom. Stripping off his clothes, he runs hot water in the shower, his mind going a mile a minute, replaying everything he and Keller talked about. Stepping into the steamy spray, he realizes that once again Keller has manipulated his life.
**
October 13, 2004
Bleary eyed, Toby stumbles into the great room, the smell of coffee enticing him out of bed. He hadn’t slept much, his brain just couldn‘t be shut off and having Keller next to him hadn’t helped. Although Chris had slept chastely beside him, no sexual advances made, Toby couldn’t help but be aware. Too aware, as despite everything the feel of Chris sent blood rushing to his groin.
“I’m calling in sick today,” he says, as Chris hands him a cup of coffee.
“Good.” Chris smiles agreeably. “Why don’t you give them notice while you’re at it?”
“Right.” Falling into the nearest stool, Toby shoots Keller a killing glare. “So are you going to pay my mortgage, my taxes, and send child support to my kids?”
“Fine, I’ll pay your bills, send money for your kids, and I’ll buy this fucking place.” Chris’ eyes sweep around the room.
“Yeah, okay.” Toby snorts in disbelief. “You’ve got enough money to pay my bills, buy this. . .this. . . .” He glances down where the RV brochure was still sitting. “Thing and support us for x amount of years until Restin is put away because I can’t believe the Feds have an unlimited budget to. . . .”
“Don’t need the fucking Feds’ money,” Chris interrupts. “Told you that my father. . . .”
“Oh, right, I forgot.” Toby never did buy Keller’s story about a wealthy father. “You dad, who never owed up to you, saw the light in the end, and left you millions. Sounds like a Charles Dickens novel.”
“Don’t believe me, here.” Chris walks over to a box which had his leather jacket thrown over. Flipping the cover off, he lifts it up and throws it on the counter in front of Toby. “That’s some of the paperwork of my inheritance. Right now my old man’s law firm is still handling the money, but I think they’re cheating me. So I figured I’d give everything to you, and you can handle it for me.”
Grabbing a manila folder, Toby peruses its contents and suddenly his heart is pounding. Pulling out another, he checks more paperwork, and sees that it all verifies Keller’s story. The two-bit ponzi artist is a wealthy man.
“Jesus,” Toby whispers softly. “For once you were telling the truth.”
Chris gives Toby a I-never-lied-to-you look, while throwing himself on the couch. “Baby, I keep telling you to trust me.”
“Alright, so let’s say I go along with this.” Spinning the stool around, Toby faces Keller. “And then what happens to me, when you decide that the sex is beginning to suck,” he quotes Chris’ words from the laundry room in Oz, when Keller was explaining why he had divorced three wives, one of them twice. “I end up stranded in the middle of Nebraska, my job gone, my. . . .”
“Never going to happen with you. My penis did the thinking with them, that’s why the marriages didn’t work, but with you, it’s different.”
“Ri-ght.” Toby isn’t convinced. How many times had he fallen for Keller and his charm, only to be told to fuck off. “Forgive me if I’m skeptical.”
“You hungry?” Chris rubs his stomach. “Because I am. We could go out for breakfast, or I suppose I could scramble up some eggs with toast. What’s your preference?”
Toby shrugged. He doesn’t care. Pulling out more folders, he can’t help himself. It’s a morbid curiosity. How could someone like Keller with his background and history now end up a free man with millions of dollars? Sometimes Lady Fate had a twisted sense of humor.
“Eggs it is,” Chris says, seeing that Toby wasn’t making any kind of effort to get up or get ready.
A half-hour goes by as Toby continues to study Keller’s financial records, his brain whirling, trying to decide what to do.
“Here.” Chris plunks down a plate of scrambled eggs. “Still trying to decide if I faked all those papers to make myself look like a rich man?”
“No.” Toby shakes his head, as he picks up and fork begins to eat. “I see that they’re legit.”
“Come with me, Tobe.” Chris takes a seat next to him. “Don’t think you can protect yourself from Restin, but if you’re with me, I promise you he won’t hurt you. If you’re worried about your bills, like I said, I’ll. . . .”
“I’ll do it,” Toby interjects. “I’ll come with you, but I have a couple of conditions. I’ll sell this place.” He looks around at his home fondly. “Put the proceeds in an account, which I’ll use to send money for my children. But I want you to buy a condo for me in New York, with enough in an escrow account to pay property taxes, house insurance, and utilities for five years. I also want ten, no twenty thousand in cash.” He calculates that would be sufficient to live on, until he found a job.
“Done,” Chris says without blinking an eye. “As far as I’m concerned you can have half of everything.” He motions at his financial records. “But there’s a catch.”
“Of course.” With Keller there’s always a catch.
“You don’t leave me. If you do, then all you get is the condo and your twenty grand.”
Toby nods in agreement. It’s a more than fair deal
“So. . . .” Chris lifts a forkful of eggs and studies it a moment. “Do we pay a visit to your law firm today and have this agreement drawn up?”
“No.” Toby shakes his head. “We’ll go to New York and buy a condo first; then I’ll have my brother Angus write up the contract.”
“Contract?” Finished with breakfast, Chris stands and begins cleaning up the plates. “Sounds kind of. . .cold.”
Toby shrugs. As far as he concerned, cold is how he wants to keep it. He begins to file the manila folder back into the box. Picking up one, he sees the RV brochure, and he sees that’s he’s trembling. It takes a moment, but realization hits him. God help him, he’s shaking with excitement.
****
Finis